Blood And Stone
by slaaneshissexxy
Summary: What went through Branson's mind when Sybil got hurt at The Count?
1. Chapter 1

He stood there frozen at the sight. The Lady Sybil lying on the pavement. The blood from her head staining the gray cobblestone and turning it brown.

"Milady?" He whispered, or shouted. He couldn't tell thanks to the noise of the raucous mob gathered here at the Ripon count.

It happened so fast. Too fast. Rowdy toughs made their way to the rally. Troublemakers posing as Liberals, spoiling for a fight.

"Look, I'm on your side! Don't cause any trouble! You have to believe me!" Tom Branson pleaded but the man who led the toughs hhoved him aside and he was momentarily lost in this sea of humanity.

The same man confronted Mr. Matthew. Insults were thrown, fists flew.

Then a scream, shattering glass, flesh and bone colliding with stone.

"Milady?" He asked again. His breathing rose as hers fell. He went pale. Tears started forming in the back of his eyes. Blood rushed to his head. He felt faint. No time for that.

"No. Please God, no."

Took him a second to notice Mr. Matthew was shouting at him.

"Branson! We have to get Sybil out! You hear me?"

He could only nod. He quickly took her in his arms, as if he was carrying her over a threshold, and briskly walked back outside where the car was waiting, with Mr. Matthew in tow.

"Get out of the damned way!", he wanted to shout. But his throat seemed to have run dry. His grief was choking him.

When Tom Branson was 9 years old, he tried to wake his Nan-Nan from her nap, but she didn't and never would again. He helped carry her to the waiting hearse. His mother said "She felt light because her spirit has flown." He prayed that night that wasn't the case with Lady Sybil.

"She can't! She mustn't! OR I'LL GO MAD!"

His prayers were answered.

A week later, on a rainy Thursday night, one Liam Doyle was found stabbed to death in an alley outside a tavern called The Queen's Crown.

Tom Branson would remember that day years later as the day he realized he was in love with Lady Sybil Crawley.

Because, well, what do you do to those who harm your loved ones?


	2. Chapter 2

My mistress, my friend, Lady Sybil lay so still on the couch that I had thought the worst. My heart sank at her sorry state. Blood was leaking from her forehead. Its just a gash but...

Noble girls aren't used to the injuries she has now. It tore my heart to pieces. A girl like her should never feel such pain.

She lost consciousness over and over again; waking up and passing out because of the pain.

It was cruel to watch. I wanted to cover my eyes and hide.

It stretched on and on with no end in sight. I lost track of time. It felt like an eternity.

I was so close to passing out myself.

After a while, I felt like my heart couldn't take it anymore. I felt like I had run out of hope.

I had to leave. I had to keep myself from crying. Branson, the chauffeur, stayed.

He took her to Ripon. He was the reason she's here now. I wanted to slap him, scratch him, tear at his eyes, curse the day he was born...

But he seemed to be doing that to himself. The anguish and despair was written on his face.

Lady Mary ordered him outside. He didn't seem to want to but did as he was told.

"_What are they sayin, Tom_?"

_"I don't know. Alright, Gwen? I'm in the dark same as you."_

_"How could you take her to Ripon? After his Lordship forbade you?"_

_"She tricked me. She said we were going to one of her charities."_

_"You know this will cost you your job."_

_"I DON'T CARE ABOUT MY GODDAMN JOB! I care about...about..."_

A moment later, Lady Sybil came out, holding Mr. Matthew's arm. I didn't dare ask what he cared about.


	3. Chapter 3

Lady Sybil and the family had gone on ahead to celebrate her first season in London. No doubt she will be the talk of the town, thanks to our _mishap_.

Both of us thought the thing had been our fault. If we had been more responsible, it never would've happened.

She forgave me.

I forgave her.

We came to the conclusion there was nothing to be forgiven for.

It was only after the incident did I realize how valuable Lady Sybil is...to me.

It came to me when after Lady Mary assured me she will tell me of Lady Sybil's condition.

I felt helpless as I stood in the dark outside her house. Her world. Her life.

My class is taught to stick to our kind. Disaster awaits those who overreach.

She'd been gone only three days and already I'm miserable.

I got up in the morning, went to work, I ate dinner, and then I went to sleep at night. It's like my body was doing it out of habit. That's how I lived every day.

I worked my body to the absolute limit. I wanted to forget everything, so I let work swallow my life; swallow everything.

After work was rough on me. It was even worse when I had a day off. I would throw my money away just to kill time. I was hiding from reality because it was the only thing holding me together.

I hate this town, but even if I moved away, I wouldn't have anywhere to go; anything to do.

I tried to shut everything out; to live without thinking of anything. I wanted to wipe my mind clean. I wanted to forget what happened.

I went to the Queen's Crown in York on Thursday. I needed to get away from Downton. I wanted to not be reminded of her.

I sat there in the bar, looking at the depths of my mug of beer when I heard something familiar.

A Yorkshire accent. Rough. Without manners. Pushing around some other bar patron.

"What's your problem then, Mr. La-di-da?"

My eyes widened. That voice...

I asked the barkeep who he is.

"Liam Doyle. Local hothead. Just leave him be, alright? Don't want trouble here."

_Liam Doyle..._

The man sat next to me while I just kept my head down. I looked at him from the corner of my eye. He was laughing and boasting about something or other.

"My name is Tom Branson. You hurt a friend of mine at the Count. I'm here to make you pay."

I smashed a bottle on his temple, grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his face on the bar. I tackled him to the ground and began hitting his face.

"Her name is Sybil, do you hear? Say it. Say her name. Say her name! Sybil! Say it! Sybil! Sybil! **SYBIL!"**

I pounded his face until I reached the floorboards. It was glorious.

_If only it actually happened._

Instead I gulped my beer, dropped a few quid and walked away before I could do anything to Liam Doyle that I would regret, but enjoy.

That night I dreamed of The Count again. Red. Gray. I'm going mad.

"Liam Doyle". I whispered in the dark. I said that name over and over till I fell asleep. I did this every night to get to sleep.

The next Thursday, Liam Doyle was dead. And I never spoke his name again.


End file.
